


Dancing Through Time

by nataleaf



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Ballet, Gen, My First AO3 Post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4757960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nataleaf/pseuds/nataleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young member of the corps at the New York City Ballet has a run-in with who she thought was a fictional character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing Through Time

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite a few years ago now... I was probably 14 at the oldest. So, this isn't my best work by any means, but it's not as cringe-y as I was expecting when I found it on my old figment account and decided to read it. It's certainly cringe-y, but not so much as to deter me from posting it here. Once I get some better content, I'll probably take this down, but for now? Here goes nothing.
> 
> It is worth noting that I never reached pointe in my ballet classes, but I have taken some ballet. I know nothing about how the backstage of professional ballet productions is run, so this is majorly an approximation of what I imagined they would be like. I'm fairly certain a member of the corps wouldn't have her own dressing room, but we're just going to roll with it for the time being.

            I had just finished stretching when my dressing room was filled with a horrendously loud and disruptive noise. I stood there in my tutu and pointe shoes, perplexed and utterly shocked as a familiar blue box appeared next to me, inches away from my skirt.

             _This is not possible. This is not happening. Am I going crazy? Why would I be hallucinating the time travelling device from a television show that I haven’t had time to watch for the past eight years?_  The doors to the box swung open, and out stepped the Doctor, looking rather much like Matt Smith (or, the man who I had previously thought to be Matt Smith.).

            “Hello!” His voice was cheery and uncomfortably familiar. “You look impractical. Would you care to tell me where I am?”

            “I’m dressed for ballet,” I said stupidly, still not believing what I was seeing. “Is this… where are the cameras?”

            “ _Cameras?_  Oh. Silly me. The television show. No cameras, just me. The Doctor. In the flesh.” Matt Smith-slash-The Doctor held out his arms and let them fall back to his sides with a smack. “Again, where am I?”

            “Oh. New York City Ballet. Backstage. With a lot of obsessive dancers who might literally kill you if you go poking around and messing up their pre-show rituals.” The Doctor started to walk away as I said this, towards the other dancers, which was, expectedly, completely counter to what I had recommended.

            “Right. Evil ballet dancers. Is that why I came here? No. Can’t be. Do I have tickets?” The Doctor pulled out a ticket-shaped sheet of paper from the pocket of his jacket. “Right. When is it?”

            “April 24th, 2017. Shouldn’t you be… regenerated by now?” I stopped short as the Doctor turned around, the edge of my skirt running in to the Doctor’s legs. I’m rather short.

            “No, I travel time and space. I’ve only been in this form for four years. Oh, I  _do_  have tickets! Lovely!  _Swan Lake._  What a classic. They’re still doing it, you know. 2050, 2500, 3000… although I imagine the techniques have changed quite a bit. You don’t use robots in your performances yet, do you?” I could only imagine the look on my face. “Right. Guess not. I’ll take you sometime. It’s fascinating, really, and quite beautiful. Well, once I stopped the robots from killing the entire cast, that is…”

            I began to feel faint and slightly nauseous.

            “Well, you look rather… green. Please don't be ill; this is a new pair of shoes.” With that the Doctor spun off and began traipsing towards the other dressing rooms.

            “Wait, Doctor, where are you going?” I asked, stopping him right as he was about to push open a door.

            “The lobby. I have tickets. I don’t just buy them for a collection, you know.” The Doctor raised his eyebrows and turned to push open the door.

            “Well, alright, but that’s the stage door. It will take you outside, and that is not where you would like to be. I can show you to the lobby, unless the director kills me first for escorting a random man about the backstage area.” I grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the lobby door. I was still in shock that I was actually having an encounter with the Doctor, and, for that matter, touching him. I pushed him out in to the lobby. He turned around to face me from outside the door.

            “Good luck,” He smiled, right as the door clicked shut.

 

            As soon as the ballet was finished and I was back in my dressing room, made significantly smaller by the presence of a large blue police box, there was a knock at my door. I opened it, expecting one of the other dancers, or a director to scold me for an arabesque that wasn’t quite high enough. Instead, I found myself face to face with a bowtie, which meant…

            “Hello. Brilliant job by the way. Beautiful, just beautiful. I always have enjoyed ballet without all the robots and effects and Ood…” the Doctor announced, pulling open the door to the TARDIS.

            “Thank you – wait a second, you can’t just leave!” I exclaimed as he disappeared in to the box. I followed indignantly, still dressed in my costume, complete with pointe shoes.

            “Oh, can’t I?” He was pulling knobs and flipping levers in a manner that seemed almost haphazard and, thinking back on my days of watching the television show, probably was.

            “You just materialize  _in my dressing room_ , announce that you’re here to see the ballet, and then leave? That’s not how it works.” I exclaimed, indignant.

            “Isn’t it though?” He raised one eyebrow.

            “Well, maybe for you, but certainly not for me,” I crossed my arms and stood, still on the entry bridge of the TARDIS. The effect I was trying to have was probably cancelled out by the fact that I was wearing a tutu and pointe shoes. The Doctor turned and looked at me, a curious expression on his face.

            “I like you. You remind me of some people that I’ve known in my life. And it’s been a very long life, mind you,” His voice was slow, analyzing, as if he was formulating thoughts rather than just spewing out whatever crossed his mind, as seemed to be his general style of speaking.

            “And this means?”

            “Go grab some sensible shoes. And clothing, for that matter. By the way, what’s your name?”

            “Allie. Allie Sheehan.”

            “Well, Allie Sheehan. How does all of time and space sound to you?”

            “Absolutely brilliant.”


End file.
